Forbidden Fruit
by Bad Faery
Summary: AU- Joseph MacAvoy is Middlesbrough's town drunk who's hopelessly in love with Sister Isabelle French.
1. Chapter 1

The door to the church was always open, no matter the hour, and Joseph was grateful for it as he slipped inside, settling himself on a pew near the front. The ambient light from the street was enough for him to see the cross, and he clumsily crossed himself, his hands shaking. He'd had enough whiskey that the sanctuary was spinning around him, but if he kept his feet on the floor and his eyes on the cross, he wouldn't fall off the pew. He'd had plenty of practice at the trick.

Once he'd dreamed of being a priest, of wearing black and helping people with their problems, returning lost sheep to the welcoming arms of the Shepherd. He would have been good at it; Joseph _knew_ he would have been a good priest. Instead everything had fallen apart after his parents' deaths. Instead of finding God, he'd found whiskey to numb the pain and terror of being completely alone in the world. He'd dropped out of school, and his janitorial wages were enough to keep him drunk most night as long as he could find a pub that hadn't banned him. For him, that had been enough until he'd met _her_.

The pub's owner had flung him bodily out onto the street after he'd thrown up on the man one too many times. He'd cut his palms to hell trying to break his fall and failed anyway, the filthy puddle he landed in soaking his denim jacket. It had just been another Thursday morning in the life of Joseph MacAvoy until he'd seen her.

"Oh, you poor man! Are you hurt?" Joseph was so used to being invisible that he hadn't even realized the woman was talking to him until she'd knelt beside him, and he'd looked up into the face of an angel.

Chestnut curls framed a concerned face, and she'd taken his hands in hers without a thought to how filthy he was. "Oh, you _are_. I'm so sorry."

For the life of him, Joseph didn't know what she was apologizing for, but he'd been too shocked to protest as she helped him to his feet, brushing him off like it mattered that he was dirty and in pain. In truth, he'd barely noticed the way his palms stung, too busy trying to take in every inch of her.

Her clothes were modest, but well-made, a knee-length black skirt, white blouse, and black cardigan that set off a soft, curvy figure, and he nearly swallowed his tongue when she reached out to touch his arm. "Do you live near here? We should get you patched up."

Her blue eyes shone when she smiled encouragingly at him, and every thought fled his head. He couldn't have told her where he lived if his life depended on it, much less have actually brought her into his filthy apartment. "I... no. Not near here."

"Well, I do," she said decisively, taking his arm and leading him down the street, ignoring the grime and stench of alcohol and vomit that surely clung to him. "It'll just take a minute. Have you eaten today? I can make you breakfast."

Before he knew what was happening, he'd found himself sitting in a cozy little flat as she dabbed his palms with antiseptic and wrapped clean bandages around his hands. She relieved him of his jacket and rinsed it out in the sink, leaving him flushing with embarrassment at how black the water turned. He was an absolute disgrace. When was the last time he'd actually done laundry? Shaved? _Showered_? This woman shouldn't even be giving him the time of day.

She smiled at him over her shoulder, her dimples showing as she asked him if he wanted an omelette, and he nodded dumbly, watching in fascination as she moved gracefully around the little kitchen. "I've only been in Middlesbrough a few days. Have you lived here long?"

"Thirty years," he answered and promptly wished he hadn't. She could hardly be out of her twenties, and it wouldn't do to call attention to their age difference. A wild idea occurred to him, and he latched onto it with both hands. He could offer to show her around the town. His mind raced as he tried to think of what a high-class lady like her might like. Art probably, he could take her to the museum, maybe to the theater. He'd clean himself up, stop drinking, make something of himself, and she'd smile at him like that all the time. Being a janitor wasn't a glamourous job, but it was a respectable enough one. With her at his side, he might even manage to move up in the world. With her at his side, Joseph felt like he could do anything.

"What are you doing in Middlesbrough?" he asked, praying that she'd say she was here to stay. Nowhere in her apartment could he see any evidence of male habitation, not even a picture of her with a boyfriend. He'd remedy that.

"I'm helping Father McAllister," she explained, naming the priest at the church he called his own even though he hadn't attended Mass in years. He'd start doing that again this weekend if she was going to be there. They were both Catholic; that was _perfect_. "He broke his wrist in a fall a few weeks ago, and the episcopate thought he could use an extra pair of hands. He's a wonderful priest, but he's not as young as he used to be.

"It's kind of you to help," he told her, and she beamed at the compliment. "So, you're here to stay?"

"That's the plan," she agreed, placing a steaming hot omelette in front of him and a mug of tea. Generally he preferred coffee, but if she liked tea, he'd acquire a taste for it. Whatever she liked, he liked. "It's nice being out of the convent. I haven't lived on my own in years. I'd forgotten how much I like it."

Joseph nearly choked on his first bite as her words registered. "You're a nun?" he managed to croak, and she nodded, her own mouth full.

As she swallowed, she exclaimed, "I've been very rude, haven't I? I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Sister Isabelle French. Most people just call me Sister Belle though."

She extended her hand, and he took it, feeling his hopes and dreams crashing down around his ears. A nun. The woman of his dreams was a nun. "Joseph MacAvoy," he rasped, and she gave him a sweet smile.

"It's nice to meet you, Joseph." The honesty rang through her words, and he wanted to die.

He left before he could humiliate himself by flinging himself at her feet and begging her to leave the church and be with him instead. There was no other man in Belle's life for him to compete with, just the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. He didn't have a chance in hell.

He stumbled through his shift and bought a bottle of whiskey, drinking himself blind in his own home for fear of seeing her again. He couldn't bear to see her again, knowing she was as forbidden to him as Eve's apple. He'd never take her out, never whisper her name while his lips nuzzled her throat, never hold her hand as they walked down the street. His Belle belonged to God, not to him.

His resolve had lasted all of two days, then he'd found himself at Mass, showered and shaved and looking his best. Belle had beamed at the sight of him, examined his scratches, and hugged him like he was her oldest friend. He'd spent the service staring at her, then gone home and jerked himself raw to the memory of having her arms around him.

He needed to stay away, but she was his siren, his greatest temptation. He attended every service his work schedule allowed, and Belle always greeted him with a hug. She'd hugged him seventy-nine times, and he hoarded the memory of every one.

It was a sin to lust, and it was almost certainly a mortal sin to lust after a bride of Christ, so instead of indulging his body's needs, he sought to drown them in whiskey, drinking himself into a stupor before staggering down the street to stare up at Belle's bedroom window and wonder what she was doing. Then he'd stumble into the church to stare at the cross instead, praying for God to deliver him from this torment.

That was what he did now as he gazed at the cross in mute plea. Belle was pure and good. If she knew that he dreamed of her touch, of feeling her lips against his, she'd be horrified. She'd certainly stop hugging him.

Closing his eyes, he stretched out on the pew- the one she sat on for every service- and dreamed of a better life. In his dreams, he was the priest he'd once hoped to be and Belle assisted him in his duties, helping him ready the church for services. They worked together, prayed together, and lived together in perfect peace and love, siblings in Christ. He was a good man, the kind of man Belle could respect and care for, and she trusted him with her every doubt and fear, which he soothed away with ease. Lust was an abstract concept, and he desired nothing more than the warmth of her smile.

The thought of Belle's smile made him whimper, and he drew up his knees, curling into a ball as his body responded. She had such a beautiful smile, and he longed to taste it, to kiss her and know that she smiled for him alone because he made her happy.

Alcohol and exhaustion made his head fuzzy, the images confused as he slipped into an uneasy sleep. Belle smiled at him and walked away as he fell to his knees, praying for her mercy. She kissed him and stroked his hair, whispering a blessing. She stretched herself out on the altar gloriously naked for him to worship.

"Joseph?"

He started awake to see her face only inches from his own, Belle crouching in front of him with her hand on his shoulder. "What are you doing here?" he whispered, "It's the middle of the night." Belle should be tucked safely up in bed at this hour, not looking after him.

"I couldn't sleep. I wanted to pray," she confessed, and his stomach twisted. Even when he tried to do right by her, he wound up screwing everything up. Now he was invading her privacy.

"I'll go." He sat up and nearly fell over as his head swam. Only Belle's quick reflexes kept him from collapsing.

"You'll do no such thing," she scolded, her voice a little rough from the late hour, and his cock twitched at the husky sound. "You're in no shape to go anywhere. Come on. You can sleep it off on my couch. You'll be more comfortable."

Before he could protest, she was hauling him to his feet, and the thought of going home with Belle was too beautiful to walk away from. Instead, he leaned on her as they traversed the short distance between the church and her flat, and he obediently drank the glass of water she handed him as she bustled about finding him blankets and a pillow.

At her urging, he lay down, cocooning himself in blankets that carried a trace of her scent, and he prayed he wouldn't embarrass himself in the night. Joseph hadn't had a wet dream in decades, but in Belle's home with Belle's scent wrapped around him, he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep control.

Instead of leaving him to return to her own bed, Belle sat down on the coffee table next to him, her fingers gently carding through his hair. "I wish you didn't drink so much," she sighed, her mouth an unhappy line, and his heart sank at the thought that he'd upset her. "You're killing yourself, Joseph."

He'd never thought of it in those terms. Part of him wondered what he had to live for, but if his drinking made Belle sad, he'd stop. Nothing was permitted to make Belle sad. "I'll quit," he promised.

She didn't smile, "Don't say that just to make me feel better. It's not right to lie."

"Not lying," he protested, trying to project how very sincere he was. "I'll check myself into rehab tomorrow." He had enough vacation time saved that he should be able to keep his job. Even if he lost it, it would be a small price to pay to make Belle happy again.

Her blue eyes glimmered with tears, but she gave him a tremulous smile, "Really?"

"I promise," he swore, and the sight of her dimpled smile gave him strength. "Will you visit me?"

"As often as you want me to," she promised him, and he wondered how she'd react if she knew he wanted her at his side always. Even if he could never touch her, he could look at her and talk to her. Her company was a blessing. "Get some sleep, Joseph."

He didn't breathe as she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek and another to his forehead, her lips burning his skin. As she went off to bed, he closed his eyes and reveled in the ecstatic moment. Belle had given him seventy-nine hugs and two kisses.

No man had ever had more to live for.


	2. Chapter 2

In the past three weeks, Belle had barely left the hospital save to fulfill her duties around Middlesbrough. She'd thought that after the first few days of Joseph's detoxification process, he'd begin to feel better. Instead he seemed to be growing worse.

"I'm here, Joseph," she murmured, wishing she could hold her rosary, but he was clinging desperately to her left hand while her right stroked over his hair and back in long, soothing strokes. "God is watching over you."

He was quiet tonight, his eyes moving rapidly beneath his closed lids. Sometimes he sobbed and screamed in his dreams, but this time he was silent although his face was contorted with pain. "You're all right," she breathed, praying that she wasn't telling a lie. The doctors had insisted that this was to be expected. "I won't let you go."

He'd been very insistent about that, even in his fits of hysteria, pleading with her not to leave him. If her presence brought him comfort, she would gladly sleep at his bedside, and that was exactly what she'd taken to doing. "I'm here."

"Belle?" His eyes fluttered open, pained and bloodshot, "You shouldn't be here."

That stung a bit, but she kept petting him. "Why not?"

He struggled to sit up, looking distressed. "Why are you here? You're _good_. You shouldn't be here!"

He was growing steadily louder in his panic, looking frantically around the small room. "It's all right," she soothed, moving to help him sit up, taking her place on the edge of the mattress beside him. "Where do you think we are?"

He had delusional spells occasionally where he saw beasts and demons or forgot what year it was. One heartbreaking night he'd introduced her to his parents, his face shining. Belle took both of his hands in hers and held on, trying to anchor him in reality. "Where are we, Joseph?"

"In hell," he breathed, his eyes filling with tears as he looked at her. "I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_. It's my fault. You're here because of me. I did this to you. I didn't mean to. I didn't want-"

He dissolved into hoarse sobs, and Belle wrapped her arms around him, feeling him clutch at her like a drowning man. "Hush now. Hush, sweetheart." She rocked him tenderly, hoping he could hear her and would believe her. "You're in hospital. Do you remember? We're not in hell. We're here so you can get better. It's all right."

She crooned soothing nonsense until he stopped crying, grabbing a handful of tissues to mop off his face. Joseph looked utterly miserable, still muttering under his breath. "Shouldn't be here… You're pure… Not like me…"

"You're a good man," she promised him, unable to understand why he was so convinced they were in hell. It was hard for Belle to imagine that Joseph could have committed any sin mortal enough to damn him.

He shook his head. "I'm a sinner."

"Everyone sins," she assured him. "God understands. God forgives. He'll forgive you, Joseph. All you have to do is ask."

"I don't deserve it," he rasped, not meeting her eyes.

"Do you want me to call Father McAllister?" she offered, feeling a bit out of her depth. She was in no way qualified to hear his confession, but Joseph clung to her hands. "Why don't you deserve forgiveness?"

She half-expected him to say something about the alcohol, and when his admission came, it shocked her. "I lust."

The words felt like a slap in the face, bile rising in her throat. "God forgives," she repeated, not sure why his confession hurt so badly.

A bitter laugh answered her, a sound that didn't belong in Joseph's mouth. "Not for this," he rasped.

"Even that," she told him. However she felt about his words, he still needed her comfort. Leaning forward, she kissed his forehead. "Try to rest, Joseph."

A smothered sob was her only answer, and Belle went back to stroking his hair until he fell again into an uneasy sleep. There was no reason to be upset by Joseph's words. He was a man with a man's urges. God would readily forgive him for his impure thoughts, and she had no right to do less. Still it bothered her that he'd said "I lust" instead of "I lusted." That meant it was ongoing, and she went down the list of all the women she saw at services, wondering which one had caught his fancy. Perhaps it was someone he knew through his work, a woman Belle had never met.

A flicker of anger filled her, and she tried to acknowledge and release it. Joseph should have his lady's comfort while he went through this, but Belle was his only visitor. Had she rejected him? Was that why he was so upset? That wasn't right at all, she though indignantly. Joseph was a wonderful man, and he deserved happiness. It wasn't good for anyone to be alone.

At least he had her, she decided, glad that he seemed to find her company soothing. Maybe there was some way she could find out who the object of his affections was and bring her to his side. Reluctantly she dismissed the idea. Although she'd never tried it herself, Belle had seen enough movies to know that playing matchmaker rarely went well. She just wanted him to be happy.

Her stomach lurched at the thought of Joseph kissing another woman, and she took a deep breath, hoping she wasn't getting ill. If she became sick, he'd have no one to visit him.

Fortunately, the momentary sickness didn't develop, and she was able to spend the next week at Joseph's bedside until his doctors announced he was fit to leave. He looked terrified at the thought, and Belle didn't like it either. Joseph was still pale and in pain; he still had hideous nightmares. Surely it wasn't safe for him to be on his own.

"Do you have someone to stay with?" the doctor asked him, echoing Belle's own thought, and Joseph shook his head.

"There's no one," he whispered, shame written clearly on his face.

"There's me," Belle said solidly, feeling him clutch her hand tighter in surprise. "He can stay with me."

He stared at her in wonder as the doctor gave her a list of instructions, and Belle struggled to pay attention, her heart breaking for him. He so desperately needed a friend. At least she could give him that.

"Are you sure?" he asked once they were alone again. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You're not a burden. You're my friend," she insisted, and she finally got a smile out of him.

It wasn't until late afternoon that they finally let him leave, and even the short walk up the flight of stairs to her flat exhausted him. She'd meant to settle him on the sofa while she got him some soup and changed the bed linens, but he looked so dead on his feet that she led him directly to the bedroom. "I'm sorry I didn't have time to change the sheets. Do you mind-"

"No!" he said quickly, his eyes feverishly bright, and she left him alone to rest. Considering how tired he seemed to be, he probably wouldn't have noticed her making noise, but she tried to be quiet anyway, starting a pot of soup and curling up with a book.

She'd always shared a room at the convent, and although she hadn't been lonely since arriving in Middlesbrough, Belle couldn't deny that it felt good to have someone else with her. Food tasted better when it was shared, and her soup seemed to please Joseph. No doubt anything would taste good after hospital meals.

It was important that he stay hydrated, and she kept refilling his water glass, making sure that he drank. His body had gone through a dreadful shock. He needed fluids and nourishing food and rest, and as soon as they'd finished eating, she shooed him back to bed.

"This is your bed," he said with dismay as she tucked him in again. "I can't take your bed."

For weeks she'd been sleeping in a plastic chair at his bedside; sleeping on her own sofa would be the height of luxury. "You need rest, Joseph," she coaxed, pushing him down against the pillows. He looked around the room in fascination, taking in her books and trinkets. "I'll be fine on the sofa."

He caught her hand when she leaned over to kiss his forehead. "I don't have to stay," he told her urgently. "If I'm a bother, I'll go."

"You're no bother," she assured him, giving him another kiss. "I like having you here."

He lit up, looking so happy that her heart broke for him. "Sleep now," she coaxed. "If you need me, just call."

"Stay with me?" he asked sleepily, his eyes already drifting closed.

"Of course." She sat down beside him, leaning back against the headboard. Her bed was far wider than his hospital bed, giving her room to sit comfortably. Joseph moaned as she started stroking his hair, the rhythmic motion soothing her as much as him. Belle yawned, fighting the temptation to close her own eyes. It had been weeks since she'd had a decent night's sleep, and she was so very comfortable.

Just for a moment, she promised herself. She'd just close her eyes for a moment before going to sleep on the sofa.

When she awoke, the room was dark and there was a warm body twined around her. Belle's heart raced with panic before she remembered where she was. She'd dozed off next to Joseph in bed, and he must have rolled over in the night, wrapping himself around her.

"Oh, Joseph," she sighed, squirming to free herself enough to roll over and kiss his cheek. He whimpered at the touch, and she kissed him again, wondering if she was the only person to show him affection like this. No wonder he was clinging to her.

Her thoughts went to the woman he loved, and her stomach twisted in pain. No doubt he'd prefer to have her beside him. Although she'd shared a room for most of her life, Belle had never shared a bed, and she was surprised by how nice it felt. Having Joseph against her made her feel safe in a way that only prayer had ever affected her before.

That was all the more reason for her to leave the bed and go sleep on the sofa. Friends didn't share beds. That was a pleasure reserved for marriage, and that was not something she would ever experience. Reluctantly, she tried to disengage herself from Joseph's embrace, gasping when he tightened his hold on her with a moan of protest.

He was spooned up behind her, his hands splayed against her belly, and she could feel his warm breath against her throat. "Joseph!" she gasped, her voice sounding breathless.

Behind her, he hummed softly, then lips pressed tenderly against her neck. Belle squeaked, her stomach fluttering madly even as she realized what was happening. Joseph was dreaming about the girl he loved and had mistaken Belle for her. She needed to wake him up, needed to stop him, but his mouth trailed lower, sucking at the place where her neck met her shoulder, and she suddenly forgot how to talk.

No one had ever touched her like this, and her body felt like it had been bathed in flame. She couldn't catch her breath, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but _feel_. Her bones felt like they were trembling, her stomach twisting in the most delicious way.

She could feel something hard pressing against her backside, and she slammed her eyes closed, blood rushing to her face. Belle might be a virgin, but she was still well-read. She knew what that was.

Joseph was aroused. Joseph was aroused for _her_.

She moaned, the sound somehow hungry and far too loud as her body arched helplessly, wanting more. The noise he made in return was low and animal, and she could feel the slightest scrape of teeth against her throat as he pushed himself against her.

Sanity suddenly rushed back, and she wrenched herself out of his arms, her body aching at his loss. Beside her, Joseph moaned unhappily, tossing on the bed, and she could see that his eyes were still shut. He was lost in his dream, and she'd taken advantage. She'd sinned. She was promised to God, and Joseph loved another. What she'd done was _wrong_.

Crawling out of bed, she stumbled into the living room, feeling like her body was barely under her control as she fell to her knees. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."


	3. Chapter 3

Joseph was having the most wonderful dream of his life. Belle was curled up in his arms, holding him close as she pressed soft, sweet kisses to his lips, murmuring words of love and stroking his hair. She wasn't a nun. She was just a woman, and she loved him, and he could kiss her and touch her and know that she welcomed his caresses.

She moaned at his touch, and he grew bolder, stroking her more intimately as he pressed himself against her, letting her feel how fiercely he desired her. Belle pushed herself tighter into his embrace, and joy flooded him at this sign that she wanted him in return.

Suddenly she was gone, and he was alone. Desperately, he reached for her, his hands finding nothing but empty air, and suddenly the bed dropped out from beneath him, plunging him into hell where demons waited to torture him for his sins.

He awoke, gasping for breath, unable to figure out where he was until the sound of running feet gave him something to focus on. Belle switched on the overhead light, looking disheveled and wide-eyed, and he realized he'd woken her. "I'm sorry."

"Bad dream?" she asked sympathetically, moving to sit next to him on the bed, and he shamelessly pressed closer. He wasn't really touching- several layers of blankets separated them- he just needed to be close to her.

Joseph had never dreamed much, but since he started detoxing, his nightscape had become almost unbearably vivid. During his stay at the hospital, he'd had hideous nightmares, dreams where all the fiends of hell were crowding around him, torturing both him and Belle indiscriminately. She pleaded for help he was powerless to give, and no matter how much he screamed and sobbed and begged, they never stopped hurting her, only punished him too. Having Belle at his bedside, her hand warm in his as she reassured him that she was unharmed, was the only thing that him the strength to continue.

The dream hadn't been as bad tonight since it was only him being tortured, but the contrast between the beautiful dream of making love to Belle and the hideous demons had made it all but unbearable, all the worse because he knew it was only a preview of where his sinful desires were leading him.

"There were demons," he tried to explain, and Belle took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"You're safe here," she promised him, and he had to look away from the warmth in her blue eyes, knowing he didn't deserve her care. If Belle knew what he was thinking, she'd never risk being alone with him again.

Shamed, he looked down, his breath catching at the sight of her bare feet as she curled up on the bed beside him. Tiny and pale, they emphasized her fragility even as he saw that her toenails were painted a vivid blue. Somehow he'd never thought of nuns as wearing toenail polish, much less in bright blue. It was an adorable quirk, and he'd sell his soul to kiss her pretty painted toes.

"I'll make you some tea," she offered, and he clung to her hand without thinking about it. He couldn't bear to have her go away.

"No, thank you. I'm fine." She nodded, shifting a little, and he pleaded, "Stay with me?"

A flicker of discomfort crossed her face, and Joseph cursed himself. He was already putting Belle out of her own bed, and now he was too selfish even to let her sleep on the sofa. "I'm sorry!" he blurted again, releasing her hand, "You must be tired. I… I'm sorry."

The look she gave him was so full of compassion that his heart ached. She moved to sit cross-legged beside him, stroking her hand over his hair. "I'll stay until you fall asleep. Just try to sleep, Joseph."

"Are you sure you don't want the bed? I'll be fine on the couch," he tried again, and she leaned over to kiss his forehead.

"Hush. Rest," she directed. Obediently, he closed his eyes, smiling as she started to hum what he thought was "Amazing Grace". It was a little hard to tell. Singing was not Belle's forte.

Before he knew what was happening, he'd dozed off again, and this time his dreams were peaceful. When he next woke, morning sun was streaming through the windows, and he took advantage of the solitude to rub his cheek against the pillow, inhaling deeply for any trace of Belle's scent. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that he was lying in the exact spot where Belle slept, and he could almost feel the heat of her body warming him.

His cock twitched eagerly, and Joseph banished the daydream. He was nestled in her bed, and he wouldn't defile anything that belonged to her with his lust. Instead he propped himself up on his elbows, looked around the room in curiosity. He'd been too tired to take everything in the day before, but now what he noticed most were the books. His Belle seemed to be an avid reader, and he strained his eyes to read the titles, hoping he'd read at least one of them so they could talk about it. Joseph couldn't remember the last time he'd actually read a book, but it seemed like an excellent time to pick up the hobby.

There were a few potted plants on the dresser accompanied by a worn Bible and a picture of a heavyset older man that Joseph assumed was Belle's father. He tried to take everything in, memorize every detail that might give him more insight into the woman he loved.

Beyond the closed door, he could hear the whistle of a tea kettle, and he clambered out of bed, feeling a little dizzy but better than he had since all this began. He felt oddly disconnected from his life, like everything that had happened over the last three decades had been some strange dream, and now he was waking up to his real life where he lived with Belle in her charming flat, and everything was perfect. He didn't need alcohol's numbing effects if he could have this life.

Wandering out of the bedroom, he saw Belle preparing a pot of tea, and she beamed at the sight of him. "You're awake! Good morning, Joseph."

The urge to greet her with a kiss was nearly overwhelming, but he squashed it, looking around the room to see if there was anything he could do to help. "Good morning."

Belle shooed him to a chair and set to work making breakfast, cheerfully refusing to let him help. She placed an omelette in front of him before serving herself, and she chatted about her plans for the day as they shared breakfast.

His responsibility, apparently, was to rest, and he did as instructed, not wanting to do anything to anger her and possibly cause her to ask him to leave. Belle gave him a kiss on the forehead, making sure he knew where to find everything before she left to go about her duties in town, and Joseph fought the urge to explore. It would be a betrayal to go through Belle's belongings.

For months he'd wondered what she wore under her modest skirts and blouses, and the desire to answer that question made his hands shake. His immediate impulse was to take a drink to help him suppress it, but that would be a betrayal too. He'd promised Belle not to drink anymore, and he could not break that promise. Instead he selected one of her books, one with a worn spine indicating that she'd read it several times.

Joseph wasn't much of a reader, but he thought about Belle reading these same words and smiled to himself as warmth filled him. He was sharing something she enjoyed, and it made him feel closer to her. When he tried to picture the narrative, he envisioned Belle in the leading role, casting himself as the male protagonist, and when their characters kissed he shivered like his lips had actually touched hers.

He lost himself in the book, forgetting all about lunch until Belle returned, her face lighting up when she saw what he was doing. "That's one of my favorites," she confided before noticing the lack of dishes in the sink. "Didn't you eat?"

"I was reading." Joseph held up the book as a weak defense, but it seemed to work because Belle's frown faded.

"I do that too," she confessed as she took a seat beside him. "I can lose hours just reading."

"I really like this one," he told her, and she beamed like he'd complimented her personally. They discussed the novel as she made them dinner, and never had Joseph had a better day. It was like something out of a movie- the happy couple spending a lovely day together.

After dinner they played board games, and he discovered that Belle was fiercely competitive. Never had he seen anyone take a game of checkers so seriously, and he wasn't sure whether or not he should be nervous about agreeing to let her teach him to play chess.

He'd done little that day, but to his embarrassment he still found himself nodding off early. Belle brushed away his apologies, reminding him that he was still recovering, and tucked him into bed, sitting with him until he drifted off.

Now that he was nestled in Belle's bed with her scent enveloping him, his dreams were very different. His subconscious seemed to recognize that he was surrounded by Belle and responded appropriately, giving him beautifully vivid scenes of the two of them together- talking, laughing, and kissing.

The dreams were so vivid that waking up alone was agony. For the first foggy minutes after waking, he was convinced that the dream was real, that Belle was really his and she would come in at any moment and join him beneath the covers so they could welcome the day together. Instead she brought him a cup of tea and sat next to him while he drank it, pressing a friendly kiss to his forehead, the thirty-seventh kiss she'd given him.

That day was much the same as the one before, as was the day after that, and the days after that. Day by day he regained his strength, and Belle allowed him out of bed for longer periods of time. No matter how many times he'd offered to sleep on the couch so she could have her bed back, she'd refused every time, and Joseph didn't dare suggest that they share. For her it would be platonic, two friends sharing a mattress, but his dreams were filled with kisses and touching, and having her so near would be an unbearable temptation. He was weak and lustful, and he might touch her if she was close enough. He might hurt her, and nothing was allowed to hurt Belle.

Instead they spent their days together, Belle going about her business in Middlesbrough while he napped or read and staying by his side when she was home. Joseph had never been happier in his life. As he got better, she permitted him to help around the house, and he threw himself into being useful, repairing her leaking faucet and bolstering up a shelf that was starting to sag. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cleaned his own apartment, but doing the dishes with Belle was one of the highlights of his day. Married couples did this sort of thing together.

Even when the doctors cleared him to return to work, Belle wouldn't hear of him moving out, and he was grateful for it. The first time he completed his full duty shift, he returned to her flat so exhausted that he could barely climb the stairs, and Belle tucked him straight into bed, clucking over him like a worried wife.

It was so hard to remember that they weren't really married, that she wasn't really his. He caught her hand as she tugged the covers up higher, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm all right, sweetheart," he told her, blanching at the accidental endearment.

Belle didn't seem to notice his mistake, still fussing that he was warm enough. "Maybe you shouldn't have gone back so soon. Maybe you should switch to half days until you have your strength back..."

If he suggested that, he'd definitely lose his job. The company had been incredibly generous in allowing him to take leave for so long to regain his health, but if he couldn't do the job they'd hired him for, they'd replace him with no questions asked. "I'm just tired. I'll be fine after a good night's sleep."

Belle's eyes were shadowed with worry, and it was all he could do not to pull her down with him so he could put his arms around her to soothe her. Daringly, he reached up to cradle the side of her face, and his heart nearly stopped when Belle leaned into the touch. Their faces were only inches apart. He could kiss her.

Joseph dropped his hand like he'd been scalded. This wasn't right. He couldn't think such things. He had to stop daydreaming about her, had to stop pretending that they were married and could be together forever. He had to _stop_.

He almost managed it. Every time he caught his mind wandering, he firmly reminded himself that he and Belle could only ever be friends. Her friendship was a gift, and he should be grateful for even that much. He had no right to wish for more. It was disrespectful to Belle and her vows to think of her in such a way.

By the end of his first month of staying with Belle, Joseph felt better than he had since he was a teenager. He'd regained most of his strength to the point that his work shift no longer exhausted him. Even better he had someone in his life for the first time since he'd lost his parents. Belle cared about him in a way that no one else ever had, and most days he could content himself with her kindness. She even invited him along when she was working with Father McAllister, and he was able to make himself useful as a general handyman around the church. There were a hundred little jobs that needed doing, and it felt good to be of use to someone.

Once Belle finished whatever it was that she did, she'd come sit with him as he worked, handing him tools when he needed them and chatting with him when he didn't. Six weeks into his stay with her, they were sitting together in the church's basement as he replaced an outlet that had proven unfixable. With the breaker off, the only light came from the torch she was holding by his elbow so he could see what he was doing, not that the illumination was terribly necessary at the moment. Whoever had installed the original outlet had done a truly horrendous job, and he was having a hell of a time pulling the box out of the wall. Biting back a string of curses, Joseph gave it another yank, his muscles straining until the box suddenly came free. His arm jolted back, his elbow colliding with Belle's stomach, and she fell back onto the floor with a surprised grunt.

"Belle!" Horrified by what he'd done- he'd struck her, _hurt_ her- he all but pounced on her. "I'm so sorry! Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

The torch had gone skidding halfway across the room when she fell, and beneath him Belle was making soft little noises that it took him a moment to identify as breathless laughter. "I'm all right," she assured him, reaching up to brush his hair out of his face. "It was an accident. Don't worry about it."

"I'm sorry," he said again, leaning closer in an effort to see her better and verify that she was truly unharmed.

"It's okay, Joseph," she promised, and he could feel the soft puff of her breath against his face. In that moment, he realized he was all but laying on her, and he inhaled sharply as his body responded. Belle's eyes were shining in the dim light, her lips softly parted, and he actually lowered his head to kiss her before his sanity reasserted itself.

He jerked away from her, muttering a final apology as he focused his full attention on his task, not allowing himself to be aware of her warmth just behind him or the way her breath stirred the hair at the back of his neck.

This had gone on too long, he realized unhappily as they returned home. When they'd been friendly acquaintances he'd been able to treat her with the respect that she deserved, but sharing a home with her had destroyed all those barriers. This was Belle's home not his, and he needed to leave.

He broached the topic after dinner, unable to shake the memory of how beautiful Belle had looked in the dim basement and how soft she'd felt beneath him. "I really appreciate everything you've done for me, but I can't keep taking up your time."

Belle frowned. "You're no trouble, Joseph. Really you're not. I like having you here."

That was only because she didn't know the truth about him. If Belle knew how sinful and lustful he really was, she'd consider herself well rid of him. He manufactured a smile that felt more like a grimace. "It'll be nice to sleep in my own bed again," he lied, "And I'm sure you'll be more comfortable in yours."

He overrode her protests until she helped him pack his few things and tried not to notice the expression on her face. His abrupt departure was hurting her feelings, but he didn't have a choice. Joseph knew how weak he was. If he stayed one more night, he'd find a reason to stay on indefinitely, and it was only a matter of time before he betrayed her friendship and hurt her. In order for Belle to be safe, he had to leave _now_.

He refused her offer to walk him home, promising to call her once he got there, and left without a look back. If he looked back, he'd fall apart at the reminder of the perfect life he was leaving behind- the life that could never be his.

The cool night air helped clear his head and keep him focused. Belle had to be safe, and there was no bigger threat to her than him. He was doing this for her. Climbing the steps to his squalid little flat felt like scaling a mountain, and the thought of unlocking his door and stepping into a place that Belle wasn't made him sicker than the whiskey ever had. Taking a deep breath he unlocked the door, bracing himself to face the miserable filthy hole that he called his own.

Joseph had to take a step back and verify the number when he first stepped inside. Far from the dirty flat he'd expected, everything was sparkling clean and smelling faintly of lemons. "Belle," he breathed, tears stinging his eyes. This must have been one of her projects, one she didn't mention to him.

Fumbling for his mobile, he dialed her, and she picked up on the second ring. "It looks incredible," he breathed, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I don't know how to thank you."

"You can take care of yourself," she told him, her voice soft. "If you ever need anything, you're always welcome here, Joseph."

He murmured another word of thanks and hung up before he could tell her how much he loved her. Turning off the phone, he sat down on the lumpy couch and just looked around the room, feeling her presence surrounding him. He took a deep breath of the familiar lemon scent and let himself cry.


	4. Chapter 4

The flat was lonely without Joseph, Belle admitted to herself the day after he left. After the time she'd spent in the convent, she'd enjoyed having her own space when she came to Middlesbrough, but now that Joseph was gone her flat seemed too big and too quiet for just one person, and she wandered purposelessly from room to room, unable to settle herself.

Sleeping in her own bed wasn't as nice as she'd thought it would be. The couch was perfectly comfortable, and she hadn't minded the minor inconvenience because it enabled her to keep an eye on Joseph and make sure that he was still on the road to recovery. He'd been so ill when he was in hospital that she couldn't help but be afraid that he'd relapse if she let him out of her sight.

After six weeks of recovery, the odds of him taking ill again were slim, but she still worried, unable to get thoughts of him out of her head. Living with Joseph had been pleasant. She'd enjoyed having someone to talk to in the evenings. Father McAllister was kind, but he had his own circle of friends, none of whom were particularly interested in books or chess.

She fiddled with the chess board, putting the pieces away. Joseph had been a good student, quickly picking up the basics of the game. They'd played almost every night, and she'd relished that time. Playing by herself no longer held any appeal.

With a sigh, Belle admitted to herself that she wasn't a very good friend. If she was, she'd be happy that he felt well enough to be on his own. She certainly wouldn't be feeling sorry for herself because she missed him.

His departure had been abrupt; maybe that was why she felt so disconcerted. Belle had thought they were getting along well, but living with a nun was no doubt a trial for him. He was probably accustomed to more exciting evenings than ones spent praying and playing board games. No doubt he'd been bored out of his mind.

The thought that he hadn't enjoyed their time together as much as she had hurt. It had been good of him to humor her, but Joseph needed to live his own life. Crossing herself, she knelt and asked for guidance, praying that God would help her get past her selfishness.

Belle bowed her head and offered up her dilemma, but prayer didn't offer her the same comfort that it once had. Brow furrowing, she kept trying, whispering the Hail Mary until she felt more centered, her mind calming enough to listen for God's answer.

When it came, she nearly wept. Her problem was simple: she didn't have enough to do now that Joseph was well. All she needed to do was find a project, and she'd feel better. With a prayer of thanks, she got to her feet, wondering what she could take on to fill her time now.

In a matter of days, the answer arrived. Marnie Randolph provided her with exactly the opening she needed when the other woman stepped down from running the church's nursery program. Belle wasn't comfortable with babies, not having any real experience with them, but the two and three year olds were a delight. Surely working with them would be exactly what she needed to feel like herself again.

Belle threw herself into planning activities for the little ones, learning by trial and error over the first week what their little fingers could do. Her flat was suddenly awash in construction paper and glitter which never seemed to completely wash out of her hair, and the thought of Joseph bathed in glitter made her giggle to herself. Somehow she knew he'd take it in good spirits.

When she realized she was thinking about him again, she sternly told herself to stop. They saw each other occasionally, and he looked fine. She had nothing to worry about.

Since the nursery class met during Mass, Belle only managed to catch glimpses of Joseph when he came to services. He looked well enough and returned her smiles, but sometimes she thought she saw unhappiness in his eyes.

Surely it was her imagination. Joseph was healthy again and living his life; he had nothing to be unhappy about. Even so, the thought niggled at her, and she brutally suppressed it. She'd let him know that she'd always be there for him if he needed her, and that would have to suffice. It wouldn't do to press him. No man would want to have to answer to a nun for the rest of his life. It was Joseph's life, and he'd made it clear that he wanted his space. She couldn't pry.

The children were free with their hugs, but playing with them wasn't as much of a comfort as she'd expected. Their games and little crafts and stories about the Lord made her chest ache in an unfamiliar way. Belle had never given any thought to motherhood, but now she thought it would be sweet to have a child of her own to teach to honor God and do good work in the world. She'd raise it in love, just like her father had cared for her.

Deciding there was no harm in daydreaming, she tried to picture what a child of her own would look like, but every time she tried, she found herself envisioning a little boy with dark hair and eyes- a miniature Joseph that made her throat close up with longing.

It wasn't right to think of such things. Belle had given herself to God. There was no place for a child in her life, certainly not one fathered by her dearest friend. No doubt Joseph would be appalled by the very thought.

Perhaps if he was ever able to make it work with the woman he loved, she'd give him a child and Belle could take on the role of adoptive aunt. Tears welled in her eyes at the idea, and she wiped them away impatiently. Motherhood was a blessing she would never know, but it was unkind and unfair to want to deny Joseph the joy of fatherhood out of envy. He'd be a wonderful father, and it would be a blessing to know a child of his no matter who the child's mother was. If the woman he loved made him happy, Belle should rejoice for him.

"I don't know what to do," she confessed to Father McAllister one afternoon as she helped him prepare the church for the next service. "I know envy is a sin, but I can't let it go."

"It's nature," he comforted her. "You're a young woman of child-bearing age. Humans are designed to reproduce. It's only natural for you to want a child of your own."

She'd told him about her desire for a child, but kept her mouth shut about who she'd like the father to be. Belle wasn't sure she was ready to admit that to herself much less to Father McAllister. "You're actually very lucky," he continued, "You have eleven children to love and care for."

It wasn't the same, but she nodded in agreement. She had far more than many people had. It wasn't right to be ungrateful for the gifts she'd been granted. She had a comfortable life where she could do good work and the nursery's eleven children to love her. That should be more than enough.

Joseph would understand, she thought to herself. If she told him what she was going through, he'd know just what to say to make her feel better. He'd hug her, soothing away her unhappiness with his warm touch.

The children hugged her, but it wasn't the same as embracing Joseph. Touch was something Belle had known little of since becoming a nun, and at first she'd found it hard to live without. Her father had been a tactile man, letting her know how much he loved her and how proud of her he was. His death had left a void in her life that only the Church could fill, and now that no longer seemed to be enough for her.

She was tempted to call Joseph and invite him over for dinner. It had been several weeks since he'd moved out, and they'd barely seen each other since. They could catch up, talk, perhaps play a game of chess. Seeing him would comfort her.

That was exactly the reason she couldn't call. It wasn't fair to expect Joseph to comfort her. He had his own life now. She'd been fortunate enough to be part of it for a little while, but she couldn't demand more of his time than he wanted to give. He had her number and knew where she lived. If he wanted to see her, he'd come to her. If he didn't, she had to respect that.

Still when one of the little ones managed to put a hole in the nursery's wall, Belle was thrilled. Joseph had seemed to enjoy volunteering at the church, and this gave her an excuse to call him.

"Belle?" Joseph picked up on the first ring, and she took a deep breath, the sound of his voice filling her with contentment.

"Hi," she smiled, sitting down on one of the low tables in the nursery. "How are you doing?"

"Fine! I'm fine," he said quickly. "How about you? Are you… okay?"

Talking to him for a few moments had made her feel better than anything else had. "I'm okay. It's quiet without you."

Joseph made a soft sound that she couldn't quite identify, and Belle blushed at her admission. "Actually I was calling to ask a favor."

"Anything," he promised at once, barely letting her finish speaking.

"Could you come by the church when you get a chance? One of the kids put a hole in the wall." Any fear she'd had at asking the favor vanished when he chuckled.

"In the drywall?" he clarified. "I can be there in an hour."

It took him less than forty-five minutes to get there, and the sight of his shy smile filled Belle with warmth. Without thinking, she put her arms around him, feeling the slight tremble of his body as he hugged her back. Reluctantly she released him, noticing that his face was a bit flushed. Concerned she pressed her hand to his forehead, relieved that he didn't feel warm.

"Is this it?" he asked, crouching down to examine the fist sized hole that little Alec Harris had managed to create using one of the toy elephants from Noah's Ark.

Belle toyed with the elephant as Joseph threaded wire through a tin can lid and slipped it into the hole. "I guess it's a good thing they weren't going two by two," she said, and he laughed, the skin around his eyes crinkling in a way that made her breath catch.

"Here," he murmured, wrapping the wires around a paint stirrer and handing it to her, showing her how to pull the lid flush against the inside of the wall. Leaning in, he started to fill the hole in with a thick paste, the close quarters meaning that her front was nearly plastered to his back.

A fluttery feeling clawed at her stomach, and Belle closed her eyes, trying to breathe deeply, wondering what on earth was wrong with her. The room felt hot. Perhaps she'd bumped into the thermostat and accidentally turned the heat up.

"How's work?" she asked, struggling to think of something to say that would distract her from her discomfort.

Joseph jumped like he'd forgotten she was there. "Pretty good," he allowed, his voice sounding a little hoarse. "They're talking about sending me to an electrical training program so I can get certified."

"That's wonderful!" she enthused, opening her eyes again. Joseph had so many talents, and she was delighted that his superiors were recognizing that.

"It's thanks to you," he told her as he finished filling in the hole.

"You're the one who did all the work," she demurred, blushing when he turned to look at her.

"We'll agree to disagree," he told her, his face only inches from hers, and Belle suddenly couldn't draw a full breath.

Joseph stood up abruptly, taking the wooden stick from her hand and helping her to her feet. "That has to dry for twenty-four hours, but I'll come back tomorrow to sand it and finish up."

He helped her place a small table on its side in front of the patch to keep the children away from it and gathered his things, clearly intending to leave. Belle's heart sank at the thought, and her mind raced as she walked him to the church's front door, stepping outside with him. "Would you like to have dinner tonight?" she asked, hoping he couldn't hear the strange note of desperation in her voice.

"With you?" he asked, sounding strangled. "Belle…"

"Joseph!"

Belle turned to see a petite woman approaching them, her eyes fixed on Joseph. Not looking at Belle, she continued, "There you are! I could barely understand your message."

Joseph suddenly looked like he wished he was anywhere else. "Sorry," he murmured as the woman ascended the church's steps to join them, and Belle looked her over, unable to suppress her curiosity.

She was slim and pretty, roughly Belle's own height with long blond curls and green eyes. "This is Petra Morgan," Joseph introduced, and Petra turned to look at her, eyes narrowing. "And this is Sister Isabelle French."

"You're a nun?" the woman asked with a laugh of disbelief that immediately set Belle's teeth on edge. "I didn't know they still made those."

Petra took Joseph's arm, and realization flooded through her. This must be her- the woman Joseph loved. No wonder she'd seen so little of him over the last weeks. It was good that they'd gotten together. Joseph deserved all the love in the world.

Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard. "There are fewer of us today, but the Sisterhood has always attracted-"

"You don't look like a nun," Petra cut her off, and Belle bit her tongue at the other woman's rudeness. _This_ was the woman Joseph loved?

Joseph was staring fixedly at the concrete beneath their feet, and Petra released his arm to slip her hand behind him, whatever she did there making Joseph squeak and jump.

Belle's face flamed, and Petra snickered. "On second thought, I guess you do."

It felt more like an insult than a joke, and Belle took a ragged breath, struggling to gather her composure. Joseph gave her a look of apology, turning his attention to Petra when she grabbed his hand. "Come on, Joseph. Let's go get a drink."

He followed obediently, his shoulders slumped as she led him down the steps, Petra calling, "See you later, Sister," over her shoulder.

Unable to watch them a moment longer, Belle stepped back into the church, sliding down the closed door and resting her head on her knees. Her stomach burned with something that wasn't quite anger, and she was torn between wanting to cry and wanting to smash something to bits.

Petra was all wrong for Joseph; two minutes in the woman's company was enough to tell her that. She was brash and rude and abrasive, and never had Belle taken such an immediate dislike to anyone before. Joseph had suffered terribly in his quest to overcome his alcoholism, and that woman had suggested they get a drink like none of it mattered.

It wasn't right. Joseph needed someone kind and gentle, someone who would encourage him to be the best he could be not tempt him to return to the bottle. How could she be happy for him when he was with someone so clearly unsuited for him?

Belle crossed herself with hands that shook, remaining curled in her ball as she began to pray. "Father, what do I do? Please give me Your guidance. Please tell me what to do."


	5. Chapter 5

Joseph was keenly aware that he was a horrible human being. It just wasn't so apparent when he was with Belle. When he was with her, he didn't feel quite so sinful and pathetic. With her, he felt like he could be a good man. He didn't need the crutch of alcohol to keep him from sliding into misery. She made him better.

Sadly her influence was only temporary. Within a day of returning to his own flat, he'd started to hear the siren call of the bottle, promising him relief from his own wretched company. Grinding his teeth, he ignored it as best he could, wandering around the flat and running his hands over everything that Belle had touched, imagining that he could feel her phantom presence. He was very careful to put things back exactly where she'd placed them, clinging to her memory. His flat had never been so welcoming, but Joseph shivered at its emptiness.

He had too much time on his hands, and without the bottle, he had no way to fill it. If Belle was there, they could play chess. He wasn't very good, but she went easy on him, and he loved to watch her as she stared at the board, lost in thought. If she didn't feel like playing, they could read together or just talk, and the mere sound of her breathing would drown out the bottle's cry. He didn't need the false comfort of alcohol when he was with her.

If only he could trust himself with her, he'd beg to be allowed back. He'd get down on his knees and plead for her mercy until she permitted him to return to her home. He'd help her with her tasks and sleep on the floor like a dog if only she'd allow him to _come back_.

Despite his daydreams, Joseph knew well enough that he could never go back. He wasn't strong enough to be with Belle without craving more. Eventually he'd slip. He'd touch her or kiss her or say something inappropriate, and she'd be frightened and hurt. He could not allow Belle to come to harm if it was within his power to protect her.

Instead he curled up in his lonely bed, wrapping his arms around his pillow as he tried to imagine it was Belle that he was wrapped around. She was here, and she loved him, and they'd be together forever. He'd make her happy, and she'd smile at him every day.

The fantasy couldn't stand up to the harsh light of day as he stumbled through his life, his only comfort the church services where he was able to catch glimpses of her. Every day the bottle's call grew louder, and he kept her image at the forefront of his mind. He'd promised Belle not to drink, and he couldn't break that promise.

"Please help me," he pleaded silently with God as Father McAllister spoke at the front of the church. "Give me some strength. Make me better. I want to be a good man."

No answer came, and every day it was harder to resist the bottle's call. He was weak and pathetic, and he was going to slip, and Belle would be so disappointed in him. He was trapped, and there was no escape.

Thoughts of whiskey and Belle tangled together in his head, rendering him unable to concentrate on anything. Even in the middle of his janitorial shift his mind wandered, drifting to the emptiness that waited for him when his work was done, and he flinched when realized that someone was already in the office he was preparing to clean. "I'm sorry!" he apologized at once, backing away until a voice stopped him.

"No, don't go," a woman commanded. "I'm just finishing up. I'll be out of your hair in a moment."

Joseph busied himself with tasks near the door, uncomfortably aware of her eyes on him. "How long have you worked here?" she asked.

"Twenty-six years, ma'am," he answered. The company had been patient with him, and he was grateful for the job.

"I don't believe it," she purred, stalking closer, and he shied back, "I would have noticed you."

"Second shift," he tried to explain, and fingers cupped his chin, forcing him to lift his head. The woman was just Belle's height, and he had to look down a little to meet her eyes, but he still felt like cowering.

She smiled at him. "Why don't you let me take you out for a drink to make up for distracting you?"

Too surprised by her forwardness to say anything coherent, the woman- Petra- arranged to meet him after his shift, smiling brightly as she left him gaping after her. Joseph couldn't remember the last time a woman had expressed interest in him, and he felt more flustered than flattered. Guilt churned in his gut at the thought of Belle, and he forced it down. Belle wasn't his and could never be his. No doubt she'd be relieved if he found another source of company. He couldn't expect her to waste her time on him for the rest of his life.

When his shift was over he freshened up, half expecting the whole thing to have been a joke. Instead Petra met him at the door, escorting him to the nearest pub. She raised her eyebrows when he ordered iced tea, and Joseph finally managed to find his voice. "I'm a recovering alcoholic."

That was too elegant a descriptor. He was a drunk, plain and simple. With a wave of her hand Petra dismissed his words, ordering a pint for herself.

Uncomfortably aware of the alcohol all around him, Joseph struggled to make small talk, learning that Petra had worked in the building for five years. When he cleaned he tried to avoid offices that were occupied, explaining why they'd never met before.

She seemed nice enough, and she was certainly pretty with long blond curls that reminded him of Belle's chestnut hair. It looked to be the same length and texture, even if it was a different color.

Physically, she quite resembled Belle. Their height was the same, their builds similar, and if any similarities ended there, he could ignore it when it was time to kiss her good night, his mind replacing her with the image of Belle, and he moaned softly against her mouth as he lost himself in the fantasy of kissing an angel made flesh.

He was immediately addicted, and he hated himself for it. It was wrong to use Petra, to pretend she was someone else when he touched and kissed her. It was even more wrong to think of Belle in such a way, but he couldn't stop. He was keeping Belle safe by using Petra as a substitute, surely that mitigated things. Petra was his only distraction, and he _needed_ a distraction, especially after the day he'd seen Belle holding one of the nursery children, the little girl tucked into her arms like she was her own daughter, and his heart had nearly burst with longing. What wouldn't he give for that? What wouldn't he give for Belle to be his wife and the mother of his child? They'd be a perfect family, and he'd dedicate himself to making sure they never experienced anything other than joy. He'd make them so very, very happy.

It was a beautiful dream that could never come true. Joseph couldn't have Belle, but he could have Petra. She was a nice woman, humoring his shyness and oddities. She even put in a good word for him when he fixed the light fixture in her office, and he was suddenly attracting attention for good reasons. The company wanted him to attend an electrical training program- even offering to pay for it. He could become en electrician and do something more challenging than clean up after other people for the rest of his life.

By all right he should have been over the moon, but Joseph couldn't ignore the deep-seated sense of dissatisfaction. Objectively his life had never been better, but he would have traded every improvement to turn back the clock and return to Belle's flat, even if it meant going through withdrawal again. He _missed_ her.

He constantly told himself to pay attention to Petra for herself, but his mind betrayed him every time, happily supplanting her image with his memories of Belle, and those were their best moments together. He was always careful to keep his mouth shut for fear of saying the wrong woman's name, and he was certain she hadn't noticed, even when he shyly suggested she paint her toenails blue. She agreed easily to his request even if he couldn't convince her to learn to play chess.

Joseph knew she deserved better than him, but he couldn't let go of the one form of release he had. He couldn't drink; he couldn't be with Belle. Petra was all he had, and he had to make her be enough.

Still when Belle called to ask him a favor, he couldn't get to her fast enough, even if he and Petra had plans. Leaving a hasty message for her, he all but ran to the church, and the sight of Belle's sweet smile nearly brought him to his knees. Their chaste hug made his blood boil in his veins, and he ran his eyes hungrily over her as he released her, trying to memorize every inch of her before he realized how obvious he was being and turned his attention to the wall. It would be a simple enough repair job although it required two people, and he exulted in the knowledge that he had a reason to be near her.

"Could you hold this?" he asked, handing her the wires that would keep the can lid flush with the wall, enabling him to patch the hole. It wasn't until he slipped in front of her that he realized he hadn't made the wires nearly long enough. Belle was pressed against his back, her breath stirring the hair at the nape of his neck, and he hoped she didn't notice the way his hands were trembling. Working as slowly as he could to draw it out, he made inane conversation, trying to keep his body from betraying him.

All too soon he finished his task, praying desperately that she wouldn't notice how hard he was breathing. If she glanced down, she'd surely notice the other sign of his distress, and the rush of mortification he felt at the thought went a long way toward alleviating that problem. Belle was too close and too beautiful, and they were all alone, and he needed to get out of there.

She escorted him out, and he dared to dream that perhaps she missed him a fraction as much as he missed her. "Would you like to have dinner tonight?" she offered kindly, and he nearly swallowed his tongue. Belle was offering to spend time with him, and more time with Belle was all he wanted. If they went somewhere public, it would keep his basest impulses in check. He could be with her without the risk of hurting her.

"With you?" he asked, his voice shaking with excitement as he verified she truly wished to spend time with him.

"Joseph!" Petra's voice was a rude intrusion in the perfect moment. He'd forgotten they had plans. In truth, he'd forgotten Petra existed.

Cursing himself, he made halting introductions, not sure what to make of Petra's reaction to learning Belle was a nun. "I didn't know they still made those!" she chuckled, and he winced, hoping Belle wasn't offended.

"There are fewer of us now, but the Sisterhood-" she began calmly, only to have Petra cut her off.

"You don't look like a nun."

Petra gave him a sharp look, and he flushed at the memory of meeting Belle. She hadn't looked like a nun the day she rescued him from his misery, and he'd been too far in love with her by the time he found out to ever conquer his feelings. No, Belle didn't look like a nun. Belle looked like an angel.

He jumped with an undignified squeak when Petra pinched his bum, and when he stole a look at her, Belle's face was flushed with embarrassment. "On second thought, I guess you do," Petra laughed, and before he could apologize she was hauling him down the church steps and toward the pub.

When he glanced back over his shoulder, Belle had disappeared inside the church, and worry clawed at him. Petra had mentioned getting a drink. Belle might think that he was drinking again, that he'd broken his promise to her. He'd explain, he assured himself. He had to return tomorrow to finish the repair. He'd explain then.

"You weren't very nice to Sister Isabelle," he murmured as Petra took the seat across from him.

"It was just a joke!" Petra protested, tossing her hair. "She's a _nun_! A nun in this day and age. Don't tell me you've never been tempted to tweak her nose."

Belle had tempted him to do many things, but teasing her had never been one of them. "She helped me a lot when I was drinking," he explained as Petra took a long swallow of her lager.

"I guess she doesn't have anything else to do," she said carelessly. "Maybe she's trying to be the next Mother Teresa."

An unfamiliar rage made his throat burn, and Joseph kept his mouth firmly shut for the rest of the meal, opting to go home alone. Petra surely hadn't meant that the way it sounded, but when he compared her thoughtless words to Belle's sweetness, he could scarcely bear to be near her.

Instead he counted the hours until he could see Belle again, gathering his supplies as soon as the plaster could reasonably be dry enough to sand and paint. Belle met him at the church door, her eyes downcast. "About yesterday…" he began awkwardly.

"Petra's very pretty," she told him, still not meeting his eyes. "Do you work together?"

"In the same building," he answered, tripping over himself in his haste to explain. "I swear I'm not drinking, Belle. I _swear_ it. I just had iced tea at the pub. That's all I ever order. I'm not drinking." He placed his tool kit on one of the low tables, holding his hands out to her in supplication.

"It's not my place to judge," she said mildly, and he could tell she didn't believe him.

"I promised you I wouldn't drink," he reminded her desperately. "I won't break my word. I'm not drinking."

Belle nodded, still not looking at him, and he turned away in defeat, sanding the patch he'd put in the drywall with more vigor than necessary. As he ran his hand over it to check he hadn't left any rough places where the little ones could scrape themselves, Belle asked, "Does she know? That you're recovering?"

If she was willing to describe him as recovering, maybe she believed him after all. "I told her," he said, turning around hopefully, and Belle folded her arms over her stomach.

"And she still drinks in front of you." He wasn't sure what to make of her tone.

"Belle..." he murmured, wishing he knew how to make this right, how to break the tension between them.

Belle shook her head, staring down at the ground. "I'm sorry. It's not my place to say anything."

"Say anything you want," he urged, stepping closer. There was no opinion he valued more than hers, and if Petra upset her, he had to set things right. Belle must know no distress because of him or his actions.

"I don't understand why she'd do that," she said, lifting teary blue eyes to his. "If she cares about you, why would she do that?"

He and Petra had been dating a matter of weeks; they were hardly in a place to start making sacrifices for each other. Joseph didn't even know if she was aware that her drinking disquieted him, and he told Belle as much.

"She should know," Belle argued, "It should be obvious. You don't eat cake in front of someone who's on a diet, and you don't drink in front of a recovering alcoholic. Not if you want them to succeed."

Joseph was stung by her implication that he wasn't strong enough to stay sober on his own, even though he knew damned well that he wasn't. It still hurt to hear that Belle didn't have faith that he'd keep his promise to her. Before he could protest, she sat down on the low table, bursting out, "I don't like her! I'm sorry, but I don't like her. She laughed at me."

Reeling, he sat down beside her, trying to figure out what to say. Tears spilled down Belle's cheeks, and he whimpered in dismay, trying to wipe them away with a clean rag from his tool box. She batted him away. "Why are you with her? You need someone kind; someone who'll have your back. Someone _nice_."

He needed _Belle_, and frustration rose in him as he realized she was describing herself. Somewhere in her, Belle knew that they were perfect for each other, but her vows came first and always would.

"Why are you with her?" Her tone was pleading, begging him to explain, and he struggled to find any kind of answer for her besides the truth.

"She…" he trailed off, the words not coming.

"Joseph, _please_," Belle begged, and she reached out to clutch his hand, "I want to understand. I promise I won't mention it again. Just help me understand what you see in her."

Her eyes were shining with tears, her hand tight in his, and something in him snapped. Before he knew what he was doing, he was using his hold on her hand to draw her closer, dipping his head to brush his lips against her.

"She looks like you," he muttered against her mouth, unable to hold the words back. "Her hair is like yours. Her body… If I close my eyes, I can pretend she's you."

He kissed her again, closing his lips around her bottom one to suck at it gently, heat flooding him as he tasted her for the first time. Belle was sweet and warm, and she tasted like heaven, better than he'd ever dreamed. He'd dreamt of this moment for months, but he'd never imagined it would be so glorious.

One kiss from Belle had aroused him more than anything he'd ever done with Petra, and he wrapped his arms around her, trying to draw her closer when he suddenly noticed how still she was. Her body was tense in his arms, and sanity returned with a vengeance.

With a low cry, he wrenched himself away from her, backing halfway across the room as he held his hands out in a conciliatory fashion, silently vowing that he wouldn't repeat his actions. What the fuck had he _done_? He'd vowed not to hurt Belle, and then turned around and assaulted her _in the church_, the place she should feel safest.

"I'm sorry," he panted, struggling to catch his breath from the shattering kiss. "Belle, I'm so sorry."

He'd stolen something precious from her, something that she would never willingly have given him, and the sight of her wide eyes in her flushed face made him wish for hell to open its jaws and swallow him.

"Joseph…" she murmured, her voice breaking, and the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her was all but overwhelming.

He had to leave. Even now with her upset at his selfish actions, he still wanted to touch her. He was a sick bastard, and he needed to leave her alone. He couldn't be trusted anywhere _near_ Belle.

"I'm so sorry," he said again, and his lips still tingled from the touch of hers. "Never again, Belle. I _swear_."

He'd never let himself be near her long enough for it to happen again, and that needed to start _now_. Swallowing hard, he headed for the door at a fast clip, determined to get as far from Belle as he could as quickly as possible.

Leaving her felt like he was ripping his soul asunder, but he didn't break stride until he was over a mile down the street. All he could do was hope that was enough distance for her to feel secure again. Finding a bench, he sat down, his head in his hands. He'd ruined everything. He'd done exactly what he'd vowed not to do, and he'd hurt his precious Belle.

The memory of the kiss made him groan and made his stomach turn all at once. Kissing Belle had been the most incredible experience of his life, but in kissing her, he'd lost what he valued most- her friendship.

Joseph didn't know how long he sat there, reliving the moment where he'd both gained and lost everything, carefully committing every moment to memory. He didn't dare forget one bit of their encounter when it was the last time he'd ever be with her.

The vision of a future with no Belle stretched out before his eyes- a bleak wasteland. Moaning, he tried to push it away, to focus only on the present, but he felt like the sun had been snuffed out. Belle was lost to him, and he'd never be warm again.

Shaking he dragged himself off his bench, looking for the nearest pub. He was weak, and Belle would be even more disgusted by him than she already was, but the pain was more than he could endure. Without whiskey's numbing effects, he'd surely go mad at the thought of everything he'd lost.

Calling himself every name in the book, Joseph stepped into the pub. It was wrong and shameful, and he didn't care. He needed a fucking drink.


End file.
